I'll Say Anything Read online

  Turning down the sidewalk, I broke into a light jog. There was a drugstore a half block down and around the corner. It wouldn't take me long to get what Jasper needed and head home.

  Chapter Nine

  Letting myself into the apartment twenty minutes later, sweaty and out of breath from running to the drugstore and then running home, I locked the door and sought out Jasper. “I'm here. I got three different kinds of--”

  The words died on my lips. Jasper, sprawled on one of the loveseats with his long legs dangling over the arm, head propped against a pillow, looked like hell. Serious hell. His face looked more bruised than it had the night before and appeared vaguely swollen. The rest of his body was covered in denim and cotton, covering up his other injuries. I noticed he'd gotten an ice pack in my absence and was holding it against his brow.

  “Thanks. Just bring me a bottle of something and set it on the end table, will you?” He stared at the wall in the quiet room, only one light providing illumination against the darkness.

  I got Jasper a fresh glass of ice water first, then opened the strongest of the medication I'd bought and dumped three pills into my palm. Standing over him by the loveseat, I handed the pills over, along with the water. “Here.”

  He took the pills and popped them straight into his mouth, chasing the medication with a few swallows of water. Reaching down, he set the glass on the floor rather than maneuver to get to the table.

  Setting the bottle down, I went to stand at the end of the loveseat near his feet, right in his line of sight. I put my hands on my hips, a sign I knew he would recognize. I didn't do that unless I was determined to get answers or when I was exasperated beyond reason.

  Expecting to see belligerent defiance in his eyes, I was surprised to see what I thought was calculated calm instead. The kind of look he got when he wouldn't talk no matter what kind of begging or threats I threw at him. I read his body language as easily as he read mine, and in that moment, we were having a hell of a conversation in silence.

  “So what are your plans tonight?” he finally said, staying well away from the topic of his injuries.

  “I cancelled them.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Because I wanted to.” I plucked at one of his long toes. Jasper hated anyone touching his toes and he had the same reaction every time. Pulling his legs away from the armrest, he scowled and tipped his feet to the side.

  I caught his legs and, sitting on the armrest with my boots on the loveseat cushion, I repositioned his legs across one of my thighs, his feet dangling off the edge like they'd dangled off the armrest.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, repositioning the ice pack to his jaw.

  Angling my arm over his shins, I propped my other elbow on my knee and put my chin in my hand. Watching him. He took up the entire loveseat and then some, broad shoulders spanning the armrest. “Waiting.”

  “For?”

  “For you to get over yourself and tell me who those men were.”

  “You're like a broken record. What were your plans tonight?” he asked again.

  “I'll tell you if you tell me.”

  He snorted. “That old trick again?”

  “It's worked before,” I said.

  “We were six.”

  “We were not. Eleven. Maybe twelve.”

  Jasper closed his eyes. “I'm too tired to talk about it.”

  “No you're not. You're just stubborn. You could probably get up right now and run ten miles if you really wanted to.” To see Jasper down and out was disconcerting, but I knew he was stronger than that. If he could badger and banter with me, he wasn't too hurt.

  “Maybe. Was it that guy? Ramsey?”

  “What did those men want?” Jasper's stubbornness couldn't hold a candle to mine.

  “Nothing.”

  I plucked at one of his toes. The one next to the big toe. Jasper hissed and yanked his foot away from my hand.

  “Don't.”

  “You're so weird about your toes. Just tell me.”

  Jasper glared balefully at me, then drew both his legs away from my thigh. Standing up, he walked the ice pack to the kitchenette and tossed it into the sink. Then he retraced his steps toward the tiny bedroom, bare feet silent on the floor.

  I followed him with my eyes, unrelenting. He shucked his jeans as soon as he entered and tossed them aside, then eased down onto the bed. A creak and squeak accompanied his settle onto the mattress.

  To think, I'd given up sex for this. And you'd do it again, I reminded myself. Lips quirking with vague amusement, I got off the armrest and followed Jasper into the room. Like every other night, I changed into a pair of his pajama pants and one of his tee shirts.

  “It's like you didn't even see the pajamas I got you for your birthday,” he said.

  “Are you watching me change?” I asked in a bland voice. Under the cover of the shirt, I slipped off my bra and tossed it aside. I never cared if he saw my underwear. They weren't anything special and girls at the beach wore much more revealing bikinis than what I wore under my every day clothes.

  “I heard the drawer open and close. It's hard not to.”

  I flopped onto the bed with extra verve, purposefully shaking the mattress. He grunted, then speared me a grumpy look.

  “The last time you kept a secret from me was eighth grade,” I said in a quiet voice. I couldn't help it; his refusal to include me stung a little bit. “You had a crush on Jasmine Hornsby and didn't tell me. I had to find out from the Gossip Circle at school.”

  “That's because Jasmine was afraid of you. She only went out with me because I promised not to tell you,” he said, voice thick with suppressed mirth.

  “I don't know why she was afraid of me.” How ridiculous.

  Jasper's only reply was to turn his head and pin me with a knowing stare.

  “What? I wasn't a bully.”

  “No. But you intimidated every single girl at the school.”

  “It's not my fault they made it so easy.” I was the rough and tumble tomboy growing up—and it was no wonder, having Jasper as a best friend. For the most part, I was still that girl.

  “I would have told you eventually.”

  “Oh sure, when you couldn't hide all your hand holding,” I said with a scoff. “Are you going to tell me about the men eventually?”

  Silence.

  Because he was so insistent about keeping his secret, I let it go. Maybe it wasn't that big of a deal anyway, or perhaps it was a surprise to do with the shop and he didn't want to let the cat out of the proverbial bag.

  Reaching over, I ran my fingers unerringly through the shank of hair hanging across his forehead. “You need a haircut.”

  “I like my hair the way it is.”

  “A late summer buzz.”

  “Why, so you can rub my head like a Georgia peach? No way.”

  “Bzzzz.” I made the sound of clippers, and smiled when Jasper snorted.

  “No. Now go to sleep,” he said, shifting onto his side. Facing away, so I couldn't reach his hair.

  “Goodnight, Jasper.”

  “Night Fins.”

  I reached over and turned out the light.

  *

  In the two weeks that followed, I settled into my new job and a new routine. Up at eight in the morning to squeeze in any mechanic work, then off to Olympus for late afternoon or evening shift. Jasper healed and our friendship got back onto the familiar footing I was used to. We teased, went out on the town in our off hours, and generally goaded each other like school yard children whenever we could.

  Mildly successful at avoiding Adrian, I only suffered two accidental 'run-ins' with the bastard before and after a shift.

  Ramsey was a different story. He had to call off our 'outing' the night after the plane ride due to business, and was scarce in the hallways of the casino in the weeks after. I caught glimpses of him now and then from a distance, always busy with suited men in high positions in the casino. Several times we exchanged
long looks and once, I arrived in the locker room to find an enormous bouquet of white calla lilies in front of my locker. The small accompanying card read: Thinking of you. Let's get together soon.

  Ramsey and I had unfinished business. We both knew it. The stolen glimpses I did get reminded me of extended foreplay, keeping my desire focused and sharp. Although I wasn't enamored of flowers like many girls, I took the arrangement home and set it prominently on the red kitchen table. So much elegance clashed with the haphazard décor, but I didn't mind.

  Jasper had a heyday with it, telling me I was turning into a 'normal' girl. The night after I brought the lilies home, I came in the door from work to find Jasper had used a Sharpie marker to write I want you, I want you not on the petals of a flower.

  Being the caring, thoughtful friend I am, I decided to repay his 'kindness'.

  Dressed in ratty overalls and a grease stained shirt, I was eating one half of a cream cheese bagel the next morning when a sudden bellow erupted from the bedroom. Jasper ran out in a pair of loose, midnight blue boxers, eyes wild. His hair stuck up at odd angles from the glitter I'd glued into the strands while he slept. He looked like he had spikes sticking out of his skull—glittery ones. I choked on the bagel and proceeded to laugh like he'd done when he saw me in the polka dot dress. Not just laughing, howling. There were even a few pieces of glitter stuck to Jasper's forehead.

  The epithets Jasper shouted bounced off the walls of our small apartment. Not one curse began with an L and ended with an E. They were four letters of a different kind, unsuitable for public consumption.

  When Jasper darted for the kitchen with homicide in his eyes, I dropped the bagel and ran. Still laughing. It was hard to run when you were laughing that hard. I tore into the alley behind the garage, spidey senses telling me that Jasper was gaining quick. I made it twenty feet before strong arms caught me from behind. Still cursing a blue streak, Jasper took off running with me tucked like a football under his arm. He ran through the open gate between the garage and our landlady's backyard, sprinting as fast as he could for the swimming pool. Our landlady never minded if we went for a swim. The pool was open season, and Jasper took advantage.

  We hit the water with a crack and a huge splash. Beneath the surface, as I twisted to face upward, I caught Jasper's exasperated expression, the look enhanced by the way water warped my view. He made cut-throat gestures, dragging his finger across his own throat, indicating I was done for.

  I came up for air laughing as hard as I'd been laughing in the kitchen. Even at this relatively early hour, the sun's rays were strong and bright, casting a glare off the water. I squinted against the glow as Jasper surfaced a few feet away. Still cursing. Every painstaking application of glue and glitter had been worth it.

  The waterlogged overalls dragged at my body, but I had always been a strong swimmer and wasn't hampered by the heavy denim sticking to my legs and torso. Pulling myself up on the side, I got to my feet, water sloshing out of my boots and running in rivulets down my face.

  “...how long it's going to take me to get this out?” Jasper was saying. Ranting, more like. “It's everywhere! I can't even get my fingers through it.”

  Shaking the overalls to help remove at least some of the water, I said, “Looks like you'll need that buzz after all.”

  “So help me God, Finley, when I get my hands on you...”

  Cackling, I made a hasty exit, feeling a lot like a swamp creature with the sagging overalls and boots that made a strange squishy-squeaky noise as I jogged. Reaching the door of the garage, I glanced back to assure myself that I had a little lead time on Jasper. He was just pulling himself up out of the pool, the naked skin of his chest and arms gleaming with water. His boxer shorts clung indecently to his hips and groin, outlining everything masculine about him.

  I yanked my gaze to his face, because who wanted to see that, and met Jasper's glare across the yard.

  Flashing him a deviant grin, I disappeared into the garage proper and headed into the apartment. Now I had to strip out of all my wet clothes, find new, dry ones, and get back to work on the tune-up in progress now that my retribution for the graffiti'd lilies had been paid in full.

  *

  “You look like the cat that ate the canary,” Ramsey said, leaning against the door frame of the employee locker room.

  I glanced up from counting my tips, cheeks coloring at being caught in the act, and smiled. Folding the stack of bills over, I shoved the wad into the front pocket of my jeans, shut my locker door, and gave the combination a spin. “Hey Ramsey.”

  “Hey.”

  I knew what Ramsey had meant about the cat and the canary. My payback on Jasper earlier in the day had left me buoyant and in a good mood. All evening I'd been on top of the world, making higher tips than any night thus far. Two-hundred and sixty dollars in one shift, to be exact. The good mood had carried over to after hours while I changed into street clothes. Ramsey was in another suit, no less devastating than any other I had seen him in, though he'd loosened his tie and unbuttoned his coat. Feeling brazen and bold, I crossed the otherwise empty locker room until I stood directly before him. Closer than I usually did, and probably closer than I should have considering we were at work.

  I said, “Thanks for the flowers. I've been thinking of you, too.”

  He stared down at me with apparent fondness. “You're welcome. I'm sorry I've been so busy with work. I had to travel to another state for four days as well, which put a crimp in my plans. How are you?”

  I liked the more personal way his latter question came out, his voice dropping an octave. “I've been doing well. The tips are increasing, too, and I'm really liking the job.”

  “Excellent. I'm glad to hear it. How do you feel about going out for a drink?” Ramsey asked.

  It was after one a.m. The wise thing to do was to go home and sleep, since I had to be back at Olympus tomorrow evening for work. And I might have done that if I'd had a car to work on in the garage. As it stood, I'd finished one this morning and now both bays were empty. That technically left me time for some extra sleep.

  “You know, yeah. Let's do it,” I said. By the way Ramsey and I were staring into each other's eyes, something more than drinking would happen. It had been building and building, this desire between us. Really, the drink was just a warm up, a way to be in each other's company until the more serious action began.

  Ramsey took my hand and led me from the locker room. His skin was warm, his fingers long enough to wrap all the way across the back of my knuckles. Not as long as Jaspers, I noted in silence as I glanced down. Ramsey's hand wasn't quite as broad as Jasper's either, the knuckles not quite as prominent.

  And why was I comparing Ramsey's hands to Jasper's, anyway?

  We hit up a local hotspot for drinks—I had water, he had a glass of wine—and took a turn on the dance floor when a song with an irresistible beat blared through the club. The touches Ramsey and I shared were telling; a brush of fingertips across his chest, a squeeze of a shoulder, hips rocking intimately close in time to the rhythm. For once I didn't feel awkward or ungainly. An hour into our impromptu outing, Ramsey pulled me against him and put his mouth next to my ear so I could hear him above the music.

  “Want to get out of here?” he asked.

  All I had to do was nod when he moved his head back to see my eyes. We left the club in his Rolls, the Vegas nightlife as thriving at two in the morning as it was during the middle of the day. I tilted my head back against the seat, enjoying the dry heat that permeated the air despite the late hour. I didn't know where Ramsey was taking us for our tryst, and didn't care. I thought I knew him well enough by now to know that he'd pick somewhere discreet and appropriate.

  He drove into a large, gated community some minutes later, and the homes sitting back from the manicured lawns were as grand as I expected them to be. Mansions, every one, with striking architecture and lighting arranged to show off the impressive facades. Most of the homes had their own separate gated
entrances, as did the one Ramsey pulled up to. Tall palms swayed in a light breeze in front of an enormous house with a Mediterranean theme.

  Balconies spanned the exterior of the upper floor, overlooking acreage in the front that was all professionally landscaped. Ramsey pulled up to one of three garage doors that slid smoothly open at the press of a button. A sleek, black Ferrari sat in the bay next to the Rolls Royce. I could only imagine what that would be like to drive.

  Ramsey said nothing about it as we disembarked and entered the home through an access door. The interior was as lavish as I expected as well, with high end décor—although so far I'd only seen the contents of two hallways. Apparently not inclined to give me a tour, Ramsey guided me down one of the corridors, bypassing elaborate pedestals with flower arrangements, exquisite paintings of old war scenes and wrought iron wall accents on the way to a set of stairs leading to the second floor.

  “Do you live here by yourself?” I asked. Just from what I'd seen so far, the house looked impossibly large for one man to live in alone.

  “I do, yes. There is no one else here at the moment but us.” Ramsey opened a set of double doors on the second floor and stood aside to allow me in first.

  Clearly a master bedroom, the suite was a study in masculine furnishings. Heavy wood furniture from the hand of an Italian master made up the bed, dressers and one desk sitting in a niche to the side. Persian rugs covered parts of the expensive looking tile and two double french doors led out to what I presumed was one of the balconies I saw upon arrival. Navy blue, light beige and sage green made up the color palate of the coverlets, accent pillows on the sofa and chairs, and lamp shades on the nightstands. Dark veined marble topped the desk and the counters of a master bath I only got a glimpse of through an open door before Ramsey curled his fingers around my elbow.

  Paused halfway into the room, I looked back to meet his eyes. A few well placed lights chased some of the shadows away, but not all. When he tipped his head down to kiss me, I lifted my mouth to engage him. He threaded a hand through my hair, tugging the band from my ponytail and wrapped an arm low around my hips.